


Possessive

by lancelotdulac



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Everyone Is Gay, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Gwaine Flirts (Merlin), Hand Jobs, Jealous Arthur, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit, Multi, POV Arthur, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, fucking in the woods, merlin being slutty, this is self-indulgence and quarantine horniness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lancelotdulac/pseuds/lancelotdulac
Summary: Merlin stands suddenly, brushes away Gwaine’s outstretched hand. “No, actually, I think this is as good a time as any. Arthur, why do you think you can be so damn possessive of me? It’s not your business what I do in my spare time.”Arthur pulls out his bitchiest face. “But this isn’t your spare time. We’re technically on patrol. So you’re wasting my time and forcing me to watch the two of you...conversationally fucking...”Merlin scoffs. “'Conversationally fucking?' Oh, I can give you better than that."Arthur is jealous and finally admits it. Arthur, Merlin, Lance, and Gwaine on patrol--what could go wrong?Post 3.13, Pre season 4, everyone is still alive.
Relationships: Gwaine/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine/Lancelot (Merlin), Gwaine/Lancelot/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot du Lac/Arthur Pendragon, Lancelot du Lac/Merlin, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 292





	Possessive

**Author's Note:**

> Just a self-indulgent pornfic that's been sitting in my drive for months. Do I regret this? Maybe. Am I posting it anyway? Of course.

Arthur watches Merlin. More than is probably usual for a prince to watch his serving boy. He _notices_ things, like how sometimes in the firelight his eyes look almost black, and how sometimes when he’s stressed his breath comes in a short series of puffs, and how his eyes tend to linger over men more often than any woman.

Arthur sees it first with Lancelot, the handsome stranger who everyone is a little in love with. Obviously, he’s beautiful, long dark lashes and deep brown eyes, his lithe figure cutting a handsome line in the field. A voice deep and rich as honeyed tea, and strong hands that, at dinner on his second night in Camelot, grip Merlin’s forearm gently as he whispers in the younger man’s ear.

He sees Merlin flush, glance covertly at the high table where he resides (he pretends not to notice) and then turn back to Lancelot and nod. He says something in soft tones that Arthur can’t hear, and Lancelot slips off into the shadows, unnoticed among the noise and clatter of the feast. For the rest of the feast, Merlin is moony-eyed and spacey, and almost pours the contents of his pitcher into Arthur’s lap, earning him a clout.

Arthur goes to bed cold and annoyed, as Merlin has forgotten to light the fireplace again. He has to punch his pillow into shape several times before he gives up and realizes that he isn’t going to be able to sleep. He lays staring out his window at the moon, the irritation building in his stomach, until his eyes finally close just before sunrise.

Merlin is cheerful the next morning, Arthur is not.

When Lance announces he's leaving, Arthur is secretly, horribly glad for just a split second, until he sees the crestfallen look on Merlin’s face and instantly regrets it.

_Gwaine_ is an insufferable pain in the ass, but Merlin is enamored with him. For the entirety of Gwaine’s stay Merlin walks around pink-cheeked with a smile tucked behind his eyes. Unlike Lancelot, who at least had the decency to keep his private feelings private, Gwaine is outlandish in his flirtations. No thing in skirts or breeches is safe. Gwen, at least, seems immune to his charms, and of course he mostly keeps away from the nobles for fear of reprehension, but Arthur catches him winking at the withered old woman who sells eggs in the marketplace and the young man helping her in the span of a minute.

Most annoyingly, Gwaine seems to have fixed on Merlin. He runs his hands freely over Merlin’s arms and makes a comment about _handsome strong young men_ and Merlin almost drops the armor he’s supposed to be polishing. Twice Arthur catches Gwaine with his hand on Merlin’s upper thigh, and both times Gwaine gives him an innocent look and pretends to brush off some lint. At least his advances aren’t unwelcome, or Arthur would have him in the stocks in a minute. Merlin practically drools over him, puppy-dog on display eyes for the world to see. Arthur is almost sure they’re sleeping together, which makes him furious. Merlin is late to work one morning, and as Arthur storms into Gaius’s workshop to demand an explanation, he catches sight of Gwaine stumbling out of Merlin’s bedroom, shirtless, yawning, hair an attractive, rumpled mess. Merlin follows closely behind, flattening his own dark hair while pulling on his neckerchief. He freezes when he sees Arthur, reddens, stammers something about _not what it looks like_ and Arthur just rolls his eyes and tells him to hurry up with breakfast.

When Gwaine is banished, Merlin comes in the next morning looking like he hasn’t slept a wink, and Arthur pretends not to notice when he scrubs at his puffy eyes.

Years later, Arthur finds himself camped in the woods with Merlin, Lance, and Gwaine, setting up camp for the night after driving off a band of robbers. He’s in a mood because he’d lost sight of Merlin for a minute during the skirmish. He had looked around wildly, terrified for a moment that his manservant was dead, and his enemy had taken the opportunity to smack him across the ribs with the flat of his sword. He was fine, but the bruise smarts, and he’s been irritable all evening. 

The fires are out, but no one is asleep yet. The only sound comes from Merlin rustling around cleaning up the remains of their meal.

Gwaine has settled down from his roguish, voracious ways, but his eyes still linger appreciatively on Merlin’s backside as he bends to pick up the dishes. Lance too, reclining against a tree, face half-hidden in shadows, is watching the manservant.

When Merlin is finished, Gwaine catches his arm lightly and toys with his sleeve, speaking softly but audibly. He’s teasing, flirting, and Merlin is responding in kind. Lance watches, _the same way I’m watching,_ Arthur realizes with a start.

Gwaine has had a bit to drink, so when he pulls Merlin in and touches his face, it’s not surprising. What is surprising is that Merlin leans in too, laughing quietly, puts a deliberate hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. Bites his lip.

“Oh, cut it out,” Arthur says, annoyed in spite of himself. “Merlin, stop flirting with him, he’s drunk.”

Merlin blushes. “Arthur!”

“Excuse me,” Gwaine protests. “I am not drunk.”

“Then get your hands off my manservant.” The annoyance is steadily turning to something like real anger.

“Sire, maybe this isn’t the best time.” Lancelot’s expression is hard to read in the darkness. “We’re all just tired--”

Merlin stands suddenly, brushes away Gwaine’s outstretched hand. “No, actually, I think this is as good a time as any. Arthur, why do you think you can be so damn possessive of me? It’s not your business what I do in my spare time.”

Arthur pulls out his bitchiest face. “But this _isn’t_ your spare time. We’re technically on patrol. So you’re wasting my time and forcing me to watch the two of you... _conversationally fucking_...”

Merlin scoffs. “ _Conversationally fucking?_ Oh, I can give you better than that,” and he turns to Gwaine, straddles his hips, leans in to cup the back of the knight’s head, and pulls him in for a long, sloppy kiss.

Gwaine responds quickly, one hand reaching up the dark-haired boy’s side, the other reaching down to squeeze his arse. Arthur forgets how to breathe for a moment, he’s so shocked. They look so comfortable with one another, it’s clear they’ve done this before, many times. Merlin tilts his head back and Gwaine kisses the exposed skin of his neck, then nips at it gently. Merlin lets out a moan that’s practically filthy, slits an eye open to glare at Arthur.

He catches his breath. “For fuck’s sake,” he growls, and marches over, intending to break the two of them apart.

Lancelot is there in a flash, one hand on Arthur’s chest. “Arthur,” he says, eyes intent on his face.

And Arthur is so frustrated, so turned on, so impulse-driven tonight, so when he snarls “get off me” he realizes he’s actually pulling Lancelot closer. 

They are frozen for a split second, Arthur gripping Lance’s arm tightly, and then he’s moving, Lancelot’s lips hard against his.

Kissing him isn’t like kissing Gwen. For one thing, Lance is a lot taller, so their mouths are almost of a height and Arthur doesn’t have to bend to reach him. For another, he can feel stubble prickling his upper lip, short hair sliding through his fingers, hear the low grunt of surprise and arousal.

Arthur pulls back, feeling something strange in his gut, a deep sort of hunger and heat that had started brewing years ago but only surfaced tonight. The dark-haired knight is looking at him, mouth slightly agape, hands still planted on his prince’s chest. “Arthur?”

He can feel his face burning. “I-- Forgive me if I--”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Lance breathes, and then his hands are on Arthur’s back, they are pressed together, mouths, chests, legs, arms. One of them, Arthur can’t remember which, sinks to the ground, and they’re next to Gwaine and Merlin--Merlin who is missing a shirt, and is laying on the ground as Gwaine’s lips explore every inch of skin there. Arthur interrupts them to pull Gwaine up by the back of his neck, and then kisses him too, because he can, because the taste of Merlin’s skin is there on the other man’s lips, because there’s a vibrancy and an impatience in him that won’t be satisfied with just one person tonight.

Gwaine is now busy exploring Arthur’s back, and Arthur shucks his shirt so he can press closer. Gwaine has a hand down the front of Arthur’s trousers and is stroking him slowly (when did he get so hard?) and they break apart, gasping, Gwaine staring straight at him while fondling his cock. He’s good at this, his fingers as deft and nimble here as they are with a sword. Arthur shouldn’t want this as much as he does, shouldn’t be pressing, needy, into the circle of Gwaine’s fist, shouldn’t be as turned on as he is by the sound of Lance’s sharp inhalation from next to him.

Lance has a hand fisted in the servant’s hair as Merlin’s mouth ghosts over the bulge in his breeches. He gasps a little, softly, when Merlin starts to lick and suck obscenely at the cloth there. Lance’s fingers fumble with the strings on his pants and Merlin helps him shimmy them down his hips a little before taking Lancelot into his mouth.

Arthur tears his eyes away, kisses Gwaine again, relishing the feel of his tongue, his teeth, his hands building up a rhythm on the prince’s cock. Gwaine breaks the kiss to spit into his palm, slips his hand down the front of his own breeches, tugs his own length a few times before switching back to Arthur. The slickness and the filthiness arouses the prince even more, and a moan escapes his lips. Gwaine grins, flips the hair out of his eyes. “Need something, your highness?”

Arthur pulls Gwaine to him and tumbles them to the ground. The other man is on top of him, warm body surprisingly light as he straddles Arthur’s lap. He rubs his still-clothed crotch over Arthur’s bare one, grinning when Arthur has to tip his head back. Gwaine is _too_ good at this.

Beside him Lancelot is pulling Merlin up for a kiss, a long, close-eyed kiss that looks terribly romantic, wrapping a muscled arm around the boy’s pale shoulders. Gwaine’s hand is on the back of his head, he’s growling “pay attention to me, highness,” and it sends a thrill down his spine when Gwaine scrapes teeth over his neck. Now Gwaine is toying with his cock again, kissing around it cruelly, and when he finally wraps his lips around the head, Arthur knots his hands in the hair at the base of Gwaine’s neck and pushes him down gently. He’s enjoying this, enjoying watching the mouthy knight bob up and down on his cock, listening for the sweet sound of Lancelot gasping in his ear as Merlin’s ministrations commence. He turns to Lancelot, whose eyes are glazed with lust, and kisses him again, none too gently. Lancelot responds, tongue deep in Arthur’s throat, and gives a spasmodic jerk--Merlin is doing something. _Merlin._ He breaks the kiss and sees Merlin is switching places with Gwaine, Gwaine is now the one stroking Lancelot’s cock, he sucks on one of his own fingers and slides it into Lance’s arse. Lancelot twitches and moans, fist clenching. “Fuck, Gwaine,” he murmurs.

 _Merlin._ Arthur is done waiting. He sits up, pulls Merlin to him, sets him bodily down on top of him. Merlin is straddling him, rocking gently back and forth, they’re touching skin to skin and forehead to forehead, looking into each other’s eyes. “I want to fuck you,” Arthur says, and Merlin shivers. Arthur strokes his thumb along the line of Merlin’s lower lip. The mouth opens, and Arthur slides his thumb inside, tracing the tops of his teeth. Merlin’s eyes are so wide and so dark it’s as if they were just two great black holes. “Get on your back,” He instructs Merlin.

He does, spreads his legs willingly if tremblingly. Arthur takes a moment to grip the back of Merlin’s neck. “If you don’t want this, now is the time to tell me,” he says softly.

“I want this,” Merlin whispers. “I want you,” and he brings their lips together in a perfect, sloppy kiss.

Arthur is working a hand around Merlin’s cock, slicking it with spit and pre-come. When his fingers are wet enough, he slides one into Merlin and is rewarded with a gasp. “Mm, Arthur,” he says, and it sounds like a plea.

Arthur plants another kiss on his lips before he moves down, pushing Merlin’s knees up, running his free hand along the smooth insides of the other’s thighs. The prince works his finger around Merlin’s hole, trying to be gentle. Merlin keens softly, presses into him. _Fuck._ Arthur has done this a few times before, a couple hasty exchanges with a traveling knight when he was seventeen, more recently with a stranger from the tavern (he only visits every so often when he needs to get drunk in disguise, can he help it if he sees a handsome stranger three pints in?). But he’s never experienced this before, this thorough understanding of the person under him, familiarity with the voice that breathes “Arthur, Arthur,” the filthy thrill of knowing that he’ll see him tomorrow morning, that tomorrow he’ll think _I’ve been inside him_ and get hard all over again.

“More,” Merlin says, “Please,” and when Arthur slicks a second finger with spit and works that inside, too, Merlin strokes his head with a hand that trembles.

He’s lost track of Lancelot and Gwaine, lost track of thoughts of Gwen and sin and titles. His world is here in front of him, flushed and hard and soft in all the right places.

“You can... I’m ready,” Merlin pants, “I’m good, if you want,” and how could he say no to those bitten lips and those big, pleading eyes?

He pulls his fingers out, strokes his cock again, circles the head around Merlin’s hole. “You okay?”

“Mm, yeah.”

He pushes in, gentle, and Merlin tips his head back and moans, filthy, needy. Arthur starts out slow, afraid to hurt him, but Merlin nods and says, “yeah, unh, yeah, faster.”

It hits him, really hits him, he’s actually fucking _Merlin_ here in the middle of the forest floor, it’s the heat of Merlin’s knees on his shoulders, Merlin’s hand gripping his shoulder as Arthur rocks into him. He starts to move faster. His cock feels so good, Merlin’s walls gripping him, hot and slick, and Arthur’s brain is overwhelmed with the sensation. Soon he feels himself about to peak and gasps a few words of warning, and Merlin says “on me, on my chest,” so Arthur pulls out and his seed spurts on the pale, smooth planes of his servant’s stomach and chest.

Exhaustion crashes over him, and he sits back on his heels. Merlin sits up too, panting. He looks unfairly good even covered in sweat and cum and dirt, his hair mussed, his eyes glazed. Arthur pulls him in for another kiss, and realizes Merlin is still hard.

“Can I...” he gestures. He feels awkward, suddenly, because he’s been so focused on getting off that he didn’t think about Merlin’s pleasure. _Selfish_ , he thinks.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “Just... you can just use your hands.”

Arthur moves so he’s pressed against Merlin’s back, one hand moving down to stroke the manservant’s erection. Merlin leans back into him, closes his eyes. Arthur presses a kiss to his neck, bites gently. “You’re so pretty,” he growls into Merlin’s ear. “Just like this, all mine.”

“All yours,” Merlin agrees, breathless.

He nips Merlin’s ear. “You know how long I’ve wanted to do this for?” The words are tumbling out, the truth he’d been burying for so long finally rising to the surface. “Years, at least. When you and Gwaine were fucking, that first time, when I caught him coming out of your room, do you remember? God, I was so jealous. I wanted you, wanted to fuck you til you didn’t know your own name.”

Merlin moans a little. “Arthur...”

“You gonna come for me?”

“Yeah, mmnh,” And he does, spilling into Arthur’s hand and the ground, warm and sticky, and then he slumps back against Arthur with a sigh.

Lancelot and Gwaine have finished, Arthur sees. Gwaine is pulling his shirt back over his head while Lance sprawls backward against a tree, eyes half-shut, looking blissfully fucked-out. He kisses the side of Merlin’s neck again, chastely, and Merlin turns for a real kiss.

He’s sweet and quick, and when he pulls away there’s a cheeky smile on his face.

“What?” Arthur demands.

“Nothing. Just... You’re gonna have to get used to sharing, after this.”

**Author's Note:**

> No one wants to explain to the rest of the knights why they've all come back with hickeys, or why Merlin looks so smug. Gwen loses 10 bucks to Merlin for a bet they made on this exact situation happening.


End file.
